


First Meetings

by Jenn_Calaelen



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: culture clash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenn_Calaelen/pseuds/Jenn_Calaelen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn and first meetings with his people</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Soledad for the Edhellond 10th Anniversary ficathon

Aragorn reined in his horse, for he knew from the map carefully folded in his pack that over the next hill lay the ranger camp – or fortress, he was not sure which name applied better for neither his mother nor his brothers had ever discussed it with him. He had tried to ask for information before he last left Rivendell, but other matters had been on their minds.

A small stream crossed the path, the sides reinforced with stone – either naturally or deliberately. Aragorn dismounted and scooped up water to wash his hands and face, then retrieved his comb and combed his hair – it seemed the best that he could do to make a good first impression. He gave his horse a quick brush, then remounted.

He rode down the centre of the path, keeping a keen watch for scouts. He crossed the prow of the hill and looked down over the settlement – or at least into the valley. Most of the buildings seemed to be be in the edge of the next hill, next to a small river. However, the walls were much closer and he could see guards on the gate. They were both women, one looked well into middle age, but not yet old; the other was young possibly even younger than him. They both showed their heritage clearly in their looks. Aragorn rode up to the gate.

“Greetings, I carry a message from Rivendell for the Council,” he said quickly, wondering what they would say if he revealed his true discovered name.

The younger woman said, “Will you tell us your name? I can guide you to the Council house if your business is pressing, or to a guest house, if it could wait.”

“I think it better to speak to the Council at once, if their time allows it and to keep my name until I have explained my errand.”

She looked sharply at him, but only said, “Very well.”

They moved out of the gateway, letting him through. He saw the open gate as he passed through – strong, thick wood, well reinforced – surely made for actual defence.

“My name is Loborhel. Come this way.”

She walked at the side of his horse's head along a path past fields of grain, growing towards ripeness, and a field of cows, up to a large wall. There were a few small windows in the wall and a gateway, which seemed to be more of a tunnel. Aragorn followed her through into a large courtyard. He looked around – they had passed into the centre of a building, and on this side there were large windows. It seemed very fortified, as if it had been built as a last line of defence. Aragorn wondered if enemies had ever attacked and reached these walls.

“There are hitching posts here. Leave your horse, and pack there. It will be safe.”

Next to the archway were five steps up to an ornate door. He followed her up the stairs and into the hall. The inside was darker than he was expecting – not much light seemed to be entering from the windows, yet no candles or lanterns were lit. To the left was a long passageway, to the right a large door. Loborhel knocked on the door, after a moment it was opened from within. An old man with scars down the side of his face stood in the opening.

“Yes, Loborhel?” he said, before glancing across at Aragorn. “Come in. Loborhel, you should get back to your duty.”

She nodded and left, with a slight smile on her face. Aragorn entered the room, aware that all those within were watching him. He paused just inside the door and looked around. There was a large table in the centre of the room, and ten people sat around. Candles were burning in a fame suspended from the ceiling, showing all the faces clearly. From their expressions he knew that he had been recognised.

“Greetings. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I came here on the advice of Elrond Half-elven of Rivendell. He believed that it was time for me to learn my heritage and take my place among you,” he said loudly and clearly into the silence.

“Your heritage was obvious from your face. Welcome. Come and sit down,” an old women said, smiling slightly.

Aragorn walked forward and sat at the table. The man who had answered the door sat down to his right. After a moment he spoke,

“I am Dirhael, your grandfather on your mother's side. These are the council of our people. I have been serving as leader here recently. In time I will tell you their names and roles. You much learn of the business of the council and to take your responsibilities here.”

“Dirhael, let go. First of all, it is important to decide whether to allow him to remain here. Do you believe the dangers are passed?”

“That are always more dangers, but if we do not where does that leave us? Is his bloodline any use to maintain if it becomes estranged from our lives and role here?”

“If he remains here everyone in the community will know, but it would be better to conceal his identity from outsiders.”

“Any secret known to so many will not remain secret forever.”

One of the councillors turned to Aragorn,

“How much did Elrond tell you? Unless you know something of the recent past, this dissuasion might be passing you by.”

“He explained that I had been raised there in secret to ensure my safety after my father's untimely death.”

“We fear the agents of the enemy might be looking for the heirs of Isildur. It is a dangerous heritage, especially to bear openly.”

“I understand. Yet, if I am to be heir to Isildur in more than blood, I need to know of the people I lead. I am not inexperienced. I have been trained in arms and blooded in fights against orcs in the company of the sons of Elrond.”

Silence answered him, he looked around at their faces and understood that the decision was made.

“It seems that dangers crowd ever closer, but it may be that times are coming where an end is coming one way or another. I do not intend to hide, nor to struggle for mere survival – but to aim for victory.”

“What would you consider victory to entail?”

He paused, the question did not sound like a challenge, and yet.

“The downfall of the powers that hunt us, and no more hiding in the shadows.”

One of the women smiled and said, “A noble aim. However, to achieve it you will need to know far more than just of our people here. Gondor still survives – clinging to the edge of ruin, but never falling.”

Several of the others nodded, and started speaking over each other.

“Allies will be needed in time.”

“Knowledge of the enemy and his allies.”

“Experience leading men and armies.”

Their voices cut across each other – he stared slightly, amazed that they did not question the goal or his reasons for it.

“Quiet,” Dirhael said, and the others fell silent. “All in good time. Now, you will know that many of us have visited Rivendell at times and talked of your progress with Master Elrond, and indeed on occasion even spoken with you.”

“I remember.”

“We know that you have been well taught and have made a good account of yourself. However, before all you must learn of our life here and how to live as a man among men.”

Aragorn nodded.

“With these plans, you will spend many years away from here. Before it is time for you to leave you should satisfy yourself that the council and people will act as you would require.”

“I understand.”

The woman on Aragorn's left said, laughing slightly, “Enough for now! He has just arrived, let him settle in first, then introductions, and later plans.”

Aragorn wished to protest, but glancing around at their faces, thought better of it.

“Tonight we will have a feast and introduce you to all those who are here at the moment. There are many away patrolling or on other business.”


End file.
